Three from My Posey Taste Like – Alexandra Naughton

July 18, 2017

“you’re always thinking about big things”

you’re always thinking about big things. grand ideas. bigger than dinner plans. bigger than birthdays. schematics and semantics. like a secret code you know that i understand. like you think like me and want to listen to loud music. roll your windows down. you want to feel dizzy. you want to focus on something constant like a bell chiming in your head and it’s familiar like knocking without calling first and it makes you want to do things.

 

“the empty farmhouse i visit in dreams”

the empty farm house i visit in dreams, crinkled creaking floors and a warmth radiating from the walls that feels like it’s all ways been there and waiting. trails of dusty footprints, leaning staircases. watching out the window for a bird. singing in high tones not fit for my body. feeling like all i do is walk up and down the stairs. singing to myself because it’s nice for a while like company.

“am i cool yet”

am i cool yet. am i desirable yet. am i likeable yet. am i smart enough yet. am i persuasive enough yet. am i supercoolpartypeople yet. am i queen bee yet. am i pretty yet. am i kind yet. am i usable yet.

 

craft me mold me make me what you want. shrink me, make me feel small. empower yourself that way. lean on me until i’ve sunken into the mud. make me invisible that way, that ordinary way you do. make me not know myself make me lose myself so you can find yourself.

 

i am every song on your sunglasses and aspirin playlist rolled together with lavender and smoked as an herbal spliff. that sad girl shit. that stereotypical shit. i must enjoy this tbh. you write what you know, you suffer what you love. you pay the way you know and you play the cards you get. play your role, do your part, and do better and do more without drawing too much attention. i guess i’ve always preferred the slow death. the one others barely notice, and that’s the point. not be noticed, functioning withering in that fauxgraceful way, descending into a nothingbeing because the fatalism is in the air and it’s thick and intoxicating. let’s play this part, let’s party.

 

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